


Mickey Milkovich Is Not Anything

by cryme_anocean



Series: We'll Figure it Out [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Omega Verse, Season One Gallavich, Sexual Content, Swearing, implied bipolar disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryme_anocean/pseuds/cryme_anocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, really, he’s nothing. Ian knows what Tony and Jamie are, their alpha pheromones stank up the entire store, but he didn’t catch a whiff of anything from Mickey. Even betas, while their scents are light and hardly recognizable (he knows because of Kash), have a scent. Mickey does not have a scent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Микки Милкович не пустое место](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675085) by [Ahe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahe/pseuds/Ahe)



> elligen: Maybe you could do one on when they first met and on how they bonded?  
> MickeyMouse_Milkovich92: a fic where ian bonds mickey, please??
> 
> OMGGGGGGGG!! The comments and Kudos and bookmarks and YOU GUYS!! I love you so much! Thank you for all of the support. I can't promise I'll be updating every day, but like I said, comments do make me write faster. Obviously. So. Here you go. This fic was requested and I kinda wanted to do this anyway. Hope you enjoy this one, guys. Let me know how the sex scene went. I'm also not sure how I like this one, so, ya know, lemme know.

“Ian Gallagher!” Mickey Milkovich sing-songs as he barges into the Kash and Grab, Tony and Jamie behind him. His eyes flit carefully around the store he regularly steals from. He lands on the shelves in the back of the store. “You messed with the wrong girl!” Ian darts out from behind the shelves. Both his brothers follow him as they run after Ian who shuts himself into the storeroom, locking the door.

 

Mickey slams his body against the door, Jamie and Tony kicking and slamming their fists on it, “Mandy told us what you did, you piece of shit! Get out here! Get out here!” He screams, throwing himself at the door.

 

“Easy, easy,” Kash with the weird last name starts as he approaches them, “he’s gone! There’s a door in the back of the storeroom.”

 

“Alley!” He turns to his brothers who stare at him blankly. “ _Alley_!” He screams and throws his arm at the door. They both go barreling out. He goes to follow before he remembers Kash. He slams the man against the wall, “You tell fuckhead this is not over!” He runs out of the store, pushing a crate over as he goes.

-

“They’re gone.” Kash says gently through the door, moving out of the way when he hears the click of the lock. Ian’s boyish, fifteen-year-old face appears, glancing around as if they might be hiding. “What was that?”

 

“Mandy wanted me to have sex with her and I pushed her away. Must’ve told her brothers I tried something.” Ian sighs and pushes past him to get back to restocking.

-

Mickey Milkovich is not anything. No, really, he’s _nothing_. Ian knows what Tony and Jamie are, their alpha pheromones stank up the entire store, but he didn’t catch a whiff of anything from Mickey. Even betas, while their scents are light and hardly recognizable (he knows because of Kash), have a scent. Mickey does not have a scent. It bugs him. He wants to press his nose into Mickey’s neck and search until he can find something to identify as Mickey. And it’s not a sexual thing either. He just needs to know. Something with his biology as an alpha, he doesn’t know.

-

He hides in Kash’s truck. Mickey, Tony, and Jamie are waiting for him across the street as Kash locks up.

 

“Where’s Firecrotch?” Mickey calls from across the street. Kash makes his way to the car. “Ey! Kash and Grab!” Kash climbs into the car and he doesn’t move because he can’t give himself away. “He’s only makin it worse! Okay, okay. We’re gonna find him. Hey. Kash and Grab! Tomorrow. When your shithole opens.”

 

“They’re leaving.” Kash’s voice is gentle, like this morning.

 

He moves into a position where he can easily climb out of the back of the truck, “This wouldn’t be happening if I’d just had sex with her.”

 

“You can’t be what you’re not, Ian.” Kash looks back at him, face too gentle, too understanding.

 

“Shut up. You are.” That’s the end of the conversation.

-

“Ey, you. Yeah, you. You see Ian in there?” Ian ducks down a little; afraid Mickey might catch sight of him. Thankfully, he doesn’t even turn to the window.

 

Steve glances back at the house and shakes his head, “Not home.”

 

“You know when he’s comin back?”

 

Steve pauses, “Nah man, not a clue.”

 

Mickey thumbs at his lip, turning around to face the house. Ian freezes. “Yeah, yeah, alright fuckhead.” Mickey looks up at the window. He and Lip jolt away. Mickey smirks and calls up, “Hey Lip! How’s your lip? Yeah I saw you up there. Tell your shithead brother we’re waiting for him.”

 

Lip sits down on the bed, looking up at Ian. “I’m sorry your face got busted up.”

 

“S’okay.” He pulls out a cigarette, cupping his hand around and lighting it.

 

“I didn’t _do_ anything to Mandy.”

 

Lip looks up at him. He thinks it might be a little sympathetic. Probably not. “I know that, Ian, but her brothers think you did.”

 

He huffs and grabs their beers that had been left on the windowsill. “I mean, she tried to rape me, I pushed her off, and now _she’s_ mad.”

 

“You’re probably the first guy who hasn’t tried to jump her.” Lip mumbles as he takes the beer offered to him.

 

“She started screaming and crying.” He shakes his head, sipping the beer.

 

“Maybe you should, y’know, throw it in her?” Lip makes a lewd gesture, “Maybe get her to call her brothers off?”

 

Ian stares at him incredulously for a second before spouting, “And maybe you should throw it in Kash, okay?”

 

Lip looks slightly surprised, just a twitch in his face really, “Why, is he asking about me?”

 

He snorts, “Oh yeah. He’s trying to go through all the Gallagher brothers.

 

Lip nods, “Cool.”

 

Ian chuckles a little and plays with the beer tab.

 

They don’t say anything for a while, Lip looking around awkwardly and Ian sipping the beer. “Eventually you’re gonna have to take the beat down for this, you know?”

 

Ian inhales sharply, “Yeah. I know.”

-

Ian’s crouched behind trashcans across from the Milkovich house when he touches his arm gently. He’s looking through a hole between two so he doesn’t see him approach, the baseball bat twirling in his hands. Ian jumps, eyes wild when he looks back at him. “Shit! Jesus.” He breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“So what’s the plan?” Lip squats next to him.

 

“Hit Mickey over the head with the bat when he comes out of the house.”

 

Lip looks over at him, “What about the other brothers?”

 

Ian hesitates, “They’ll probably beat me to death.”

 

He shakes his head once and picks up the brick in front of him, “I’ll fight them off while you run.”

 

Ian lets out a breath of displeasure, “This is my problem, not yours.”

 

He scoffs, “It’ll be fun. I owe ‘em one.” He raises an eyebrow. He can feel Ian’s eyes one him even when he turns his head, checking to make sure he’s sure.

 

They watch the door in silence, but not for long. Mandy comes out and Ian’s hand is running over the bat in nerves. “Shit.” He exclaims, running across the street after her.

 

Lip moves to watch through the hole Ian had just been looking through but they disappeared. “Fuck.” He stands and makes his way back.

-

Mandy’s a pretty great girl. She understood and even offered to be his fake girlfriend (beard, he corrects). He thinks it’s a good idea. She’s a beta, so he doesn’t feel any pull towards her scent, not like he’d feel if she were an omega. If she were an alpha, it wouldn’t be very believable. He thanks whoever for having that work in his favor.

-

He leans against some old fuck’s restaurant, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He watches the Kash and Grab. Some lady on her cell phone leaves and he deems it empty enough to go. He crosses the street, not bothering to check for oncoming cars. He takes one last puff of his cigarette before dropping it on the ground.

 

Upon entering the tiny store, he glances at Kash who eyes him suspiciously. _What’re you gonna do about it, Towelhead?_ Some weird ass Indian music plays from a small speaker mounted on the wall above the drinks. He ignores it, though, as he grabs a blue Gatorade, two cans of Pringles, and a box of Ding Dongs.

 

He almost walks past Kash again, but notices a box. He glances in it—a smaller box of gum—before dumping it out. He places the shit he just grabbed into it. Glancing around the counter he notices a box of Kit-Kats. He grabs two packs and then looks around again. Did he forget anything? No. Oh wait. “Oh. Heads up, man. You’re out of Barbeque Pringles.” He scoffs and turns, leaving out the door.

 

He’s halfway down the street when he remembers. He forgot the dip. Fucking idiot. He turns around, walking back in. Gallagher’s standing at the front now, talking with Towelhead about fuck ever. He pushes past them, going back to the freezers. He grabs it and then goes to leave. “Forgot the dip!” He shakes his head in amusement, shaking the container.

 

“Hey Mickey! Why don’t you steal from a neighborhood you don’t live in? Have some civic pride, huh?”

 

He turns around. Gallagher? His sister’s fucking boyfriend, Gallagher? That faggot’s got some damn balls. He raises his eyebrows and looks down at his box. What doesn’t he need? Fuck. Forget the dip. He grabs it and then chucks it at his head.

 

“Jesus fuck!” Both he and Towelhead duck, the dip splattering on the door behind them.

 

He turns back around. “You know where I live if you gotta problem.” He slips his finger into his mouth, sucking off the rest of the dip.

-

Kash gets a gun at his urging. Late at night when the store is long closed, he, Kash, and Linda gather outside so they can try it out. Turns out, they suck. He takes the gun from them, showing them how to shoot it properly. “ROTC,” He tells them proudly.

-

Mickey stole the gun. Mickey _fucking_ stole the _fucking_ gun. Ian stands outside the Milkovich house, the used up **Welcome Home DAD** sign already hanging. Mandy answers the door.

 

She grins, “Hey, change your mind about that movie?”

 

He ignores her, leaning in to check the house. It reeks of alpha stench, as always. “Where’s Mickey?”

 

She looks at him oddly, “Downstate picking up our dad from prison, why?”

 

He ignores her again, pushing past to enter the house. He heads directly for Mickey’s room. “What the hell, Ian?” She demands, following him. He messes up. He goes into someone else’s room. He sees a **STAY THE FUCK OUT** sign. _Mickey’s_. “Mickey will _kill_ you.” Mandy says from behind him, but he’s not listening. He flips over the couch cushion and then rummages through drawers, trying to find the gun. “What do you want? IAN!” Mandy screams at him and he finally acknowledges her.

 

“He hit Kash, okay?” She approaches him, grabbing his arm and pulling him away.

 

“Just go. I’ll put everything back.” She pushes him towards the door.

 

He shakes his head. “Tell him it ends now. No more messing with Kash. And tell him I want the gun back. Tonight.”

-

Mickey doesn’t bring the gun. So Ian takes things into his own hands. He goes to the Milkovich’s the next morning. The place is disgusting. Empty beer cans and red plastic cups litter the lawn, beer bottles and trash on the porch. He’s about to go in but he knows he’ll need a weapon if he wants to defend himself. He glances around. The only thing he sees is a tire iron.

 

Terry’s asleep on the couch, Mickey’s door is shut. He holds the iron like he holds the baseball bat, looking around to make sure no one’s gonna try to jump him. It’s not quite peaceful, but it's definitely not his house. He opens Mickey’s door slowly, checking to make sure he’s not awake. Good.

 

He hits the tire iron against Mickey’s back, hearing the metal clink on his spine. “The fuck?” Mickey turns to him, eyes half-lidded and tired.

 

“I want the gun back, Mickey!” He demands.

 

“Gallagher?!” Mickey starts to move so he gets a little anxious. He taps him with the iron again.

 

“The gun.” He says, firmer.

 

Mickey raises his hand in surrender, the other used to support his weight. “Alright.”

 

Wait. Something isn’t right. But before he can tell what’s different, Mickey’s slamming him against the wall. He scrambles, trying to slam him with the iron in his hand but Mickey knocks it out. He tries to move, hitting Mickey once in the chest but kinda by accident. He pushes him off and then throws him back down, both of them grabbing and hitting whatever they can. Mickey throws him off again and grabs the tire iron, pushing him back on the bed. Ian tries to move, tries to get away. Mickey turns him onto his back, straddling his shoulders. He raises the tire iron, about to bash his face in.

 

And then Ian smells it. _Omega_. His eyes widen and he looks up at Mickey. Mickey looks down at him. They’re panting, _loudly_ , but Ian can’t hear that. All he can hear is the rushing in his ears and pounding of his heart. He’s never met another omega who _isn’t_ his little sister Debbie. Mickey’s eyes dart over to his dresser and, if Ian were paying attention, he’d see the bottle of pills.

 

Mickey drops the iron and Ian watches it fall from his hands, making a clattering sound even against the carpet. Ian knows what’s coming before he sees it. Mickey tears at his shirt, pulling it off desperately so Ian pushes at him. He wants to take his shirt off too. He pulls at the jacket covering him and Mickey’s chest is bare.

 

His skin is white. Really white. And clear. So clear and clean for looking so dirty all the time. He wants to mark him. Shit, no. Fuck. No. He’s pulled from his thoughts as Mickey grabs at his shirt, helping him pull it off.

 

And then Mickey’s pulling off his pants and so Ian thinks he better follow.

 

And then they’re naked. Ian stares down at Mickey and he never thought a smell could affect him so much. And it’s so faint. Mickey must be on suppressants, he thinks, because he’s never smelled him like this before. “You gonna get on me, Firecrotch?”

 

“L-lube?” He chokes out and Mickey looks back at him.

 

“You a fuckin idiot or something?” Ian glances down at Mickey’s hole to see it already glistening wet. It’s wet and pink and so pretty in a way that an asshole—y’know, the things that spew shit—shouldn’t be. He can't resist. He fucking can’t. He leans down and licks it. Really quickly because he can't resist. Fuck. He tastes as good as he smells.

 

He brings his hands up to his cheeks, spreading them and watching with fascination as Mickey’s hole fucking winks at him. It winks. Shit. “Gallagher, what the hell are you-” Mickey doesn’t finish because, he’s guessing, Ian shoves a finger inside. It’s wet and hot and it lets out some more of that smell. “Shit.” Mickey hisses. Ian pulls his finger out. It glistens as well, just like Mickey’s hole. He sucks it into his mouth. Oh yeah. Oh _hell_ yeah. He tastes so fucking good.

 

Ian leans down again, this time lapping at his hole, digging his tongue into it. He would stay down here forever but Mickey reaches back and grabs at his hair, tugging. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

“You taste good. So fucking-” He doesn’t finish because he’s going for it again but Mickey’s hand in his hair stops him.

 

“Fucking get on me or get out.” But Mickey sounds just as wrecked as Ian feels.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbles, straightening up. He glances down at his dick, flush and curving, before he leans forward and tries to get it in Mickey. He misses once, twice, three times before the head catches on Mickey's rim. He inhales sharply as he snaps his hips forward. He normally goes in slow, getting Kash used to the burn, but he can't. Not now. He’s so hard and Mickey is wet. _Naturally_ wet and so warm and tight. He’s really tight and he squeezes around his dick so nicely. “Fuck.” He breathes.

 

“Will you keep quiet?” Mickey snaps at him but he follows it with a grunt.

 

And then the room is filled with grunts. And Ian is lost in the sound. He's lost in Mickey and the feeling around his cock. "Fuck." He chokes as he pulls out and cums over Mickey's back. Mickey follows quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty omega. His omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case this causes any confusion. Svetlana DOES NOT EXIST. No, really. In this verse, she never has sex with Mickey and the child is never conceived. Hope this is good. I figured I'd knock both their first time together and their bond out in one story. I really hope this chapter is okay because I'm not sure how I feel about this fic. Lemme know.

They have a purely sexual relationship for a long while. Mickey doesn’t go into heats because of his suppressants (Ian finds out that the first time they had sex, Mickey had forgotten to take them the night before which resulted in his scent strengthening). Actually, he hardly smells. Ian only can tell because he knows what he’s looking for.

 

When Monica came back, he searched out Mickey first. They had fucked in the freezer of the Kash n Grab and Ian had dug his nose into Mickey’s neck. His scent was the strongest under his ear right along his jawbone. Ian tended to seek that spot out now that he’d found it.

-

“I like ‘em rough… I’m Scott, you wanna get outta here?”

 

Mickey eyes the older man, scoffing as he pulls out the picture of Ian he kept hidden in his magazine. He knew he shouldn’t’ve come out here alone. Bad idea. Thankfully, this man was just some stupid beta thinking he could get into his pants. “No I don’t wanna-” he breaks off, shaking his head, “you seen this kid?” He holds up Ian’s picture in front of his face.

 

The man turns, offended, “Oh. You like them skinny. I could lose thirty pounds if you wanted.”

 

Mickey’s eyes narrow incredulously and he looks around, asking whoever the fuck is up there for a fucking break. “Thirty pounds, maybe in your ass, man, where’s the manager?”

 

Scott points to his right and Mickey sighs. Was that so fuckin hard?

-

His alpha–fuck. Wrong. _The_ alpha he used to sleep with. He was dressed in tight, tiny shorts that barely covered his ass, a mesh shirt that really was just not a good look for him, and a feather boa. He’s grinding all over some old guy; his hips thrusting lewdly against the man’s straining erection. Mickey takes a wild guess: another alpha.

 

He has no idea how this alpha even finds it appropriate to let another one of his kind thrust all over him. In his experience, alphas fucking hate that shit.

 

Mickey watches for a few moments, dread filling his stomach because that’s Ian, his fucking alpha, grinding all over some old guy. Mickey wishes in that moment that he’s off his suppressants. If he were, Ian would certainly be able to smell him. He wants him to smell him, to turn around and stare at him like he normally does when he catches a whiff, even the slightest, of his scent.

 

He watches Ian take something from the man’s hand—Ecstasy, he realizes later when he’s not blinded by hormones and that stupid jealous rage. He moves towards them, shoving the man’s shoulder. “Time’s up, lovebirds.” Ian looks back at him, surprised. He likes that. “That means get the fuck up, it’s my turn.” He shoves the guy out of the way. Ian’s standing in front of him, eyes dazed and clouded. He’s so fucking high right now. Mickey doesn’t know what to do. He wings it.

-

He wakes up… well he’s not sure when. The light streaming through the windows is bright but it hurts his head to look at so he lies back down.  He buries his head in the pillow that smells like… nothing. And it’s a familiar, comforting nothing. A Mickey nothing. He jolts up. He doesn’t remember last night. He doesn’t remember Mickey taking him home. His head hurts. Fuck it hurts. He stumbles up from the floor, the clock reading 12:48. Fuck. Afternoon. He slept all day. Mickey’s probably at work. Ian makes his way to the bathroom, slipping easily out of his jeans and tank-top. He turns on the shower, hot water running over his face, clearing his head.

 

He thinks about why he left. He thinks about Mickey, his father catching them in the act. He thinks about Mickey kicking him out after they’re both beaten so badly, Terry slamming Mickey’s head against the edge of the couch when Mandy comes in, calling the cops. He thinks about Mickey telling him _no_ he doesn’t want to bond, who does he think he is? He’s not a fucking bitch and Ian’s hardly an alpha anyway. He thinks about how Mickey avidly denied them being anything but a casual fuck, but saying that they could continue like that, if Ian stopped being a clingy little fag.

-

“You comin back?” He sounds like a bitch. Fuck it, he is a fuckin bitch. He’s been a damn bitch for years.

 

“Depends, will you suck my dick whenever I want?” He looks over at him, not amused.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Ian’s unfazed, looking back down at the little leather journal he has in his hands, pen scratching erratically.

 

Mickey looks down at his hands and then back to Ian. “Whatcha writin?”

 

“Stuff,” Mickey thinks he’ll leave it there, “notes, ideas.”

 

Mickey’s hardly paying attention. He can’t lose Ian. He can’t lose him. Not now. Not ever. “I’ll do it.” And even to him it sounds pathetic, weak, stupid. He sounds like an alpha begging for an omega. Sounds like one of those cheap romance chick shit that Mandy forces him to watch. And he hates it. But he hates losing Ian more. He hates being alone, hates being without Ian.

 

Ian looks up at him, feigning innocence, “Do what?” And his pretty fucking eyes are so wide that Mickey shakes his head and lets out a sharp exhale.

 

“Don’t make me say it asswipe.”

 

“Suck my dick.” He speaks loudly, a coy fucking smile right there. Mickey wants to smack it off. Even worse, he wants to fucking _kiss_ it off. Ian nods a little, “Whenever I want.”

 

Mickey shakes his head because he’s about to become such a bitch. He charges for Ian’s dick, though. He’s on his knees and Ian moves his journal out of the way, Mickey pulling his fly down quickly. He shouldn’t have missed Ian’s dick so fucking much.

-

“Bye Ian~!” Debbie sing-songs as she leaves the house.

 

He looks around a little lost, “Bye… Debs.” His voice trailing off right at the end. He feels high wired and tense, but Mickey approaches him with the coffee pot in hand.

 

He tilts it towards him, “You want some more?” His voice is quiet and he won’t look at him. Ian smiles. His omega. His. Even if Mickey won’t say it out loud and won’t let him bite him. He’s his. And this pretty display of submission, even if it’s just getting him some coffee, is so perfect that Ian would bend Mickey over right now if Fiona weren’t standing right there. He moves his mug closer so Mickey gets the idea that, yes, he does.

-

He watches happily. His omega. Pretty omega. Pretty, _jealous_ omega. He moves in for a kiss and watches as Mickey’s instant reflexes kick in.

 

“The fuck?” He waits patiently. Pretty blue eyes flick around nervously. Pretty blue eyes back on him. Pretty hands moving towards his face. Pretty mouth pressing against his. Pretty omega. His omega.

-

“Ryan, this is Mickey.” Beta. Unbonded. Watching his alpha carefully. _Fuck_. The alpha. Not his. Never his.

 

“Delighted to meet you.” Mickey huffs and avoids the man’s hand.

 

“Could I get either of you a cocktail?”

 

Mickey thumbs at his lip, “Yeah you got any beer?”

 

Ryan spouts off some fancy fuckin names but Mickey doesn’t know what the hell they mean. “You got any beer?” He tries again.

-

He’s jolted awake, hand slipping from Ian’s wrist as he moves to knock whoever touched him out. The smell of Ian, of his alpha, surrounds him but he pushes that away. “Whoa, whoa, easy killer. I’m taking breakfast orders: scrambled eggs, pancakes, or French toast?”

 

He groans, fingers digging into his eyes to help ease the pain. “Eggs.” He grunts, still trying to calm his racing pulse.

 

“And what do you think he’ll want?”

 

“How the fuck should I know, I'm not his keeper?”

 

“Right, didn’t mean to assume. So… did you two just meet last night or are you…” Ryan is so fucking annoying. Obviously he can tell they’re not bonded. He can’t smell it. Stupid fuck. “together?”

 

Mickey looks down at his— _not his_ —alpha. “Together.”

-

He’s dying. Gonna die. Mickey isn’t sure if he’s had anything to drink. Isn’t sure if he’s pissing in the bed or getting up when he isn’t aware. Isn’t sure what the hell he’s supposed to do now because even though he’s on suppressants, he’s still the omega. He’s still taken care of. He doesn’t know how to take care of Ian. Doesn’t know what the hell this is. He doesn’t know. But when Fiona says Ian might have to go to the hospital, Mickey panics. Ian can’t go to the fucking hospital. Ian can’t leave him. Not again. Not now. Not after he’s decided he’s in this for the long run. Not now that he’s decided he wants to bond. Please Ian, not now.

 

But begging won’t work. No matter how hard he tries to urge him out of bed, beg him out of bed, anything. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. He feels like he’s losing. So he lets Fiona know. Ian has to go to the clinic. Mickey won’t lose him. Not again.

-

“You fuckin scared me.” His omega. Smells different. Smells like another alpha. “Don’t you fucking ever pull that shit again, you hear me?” He leans up. He smells his omega underneath all that nasty alpha.

 

“Who’s on you?”

 

“You hear a word I fuckin said to you?”

 

“Who scented you?”

 

He watches pretty blue eyes dart around the room, “No one fucking scented me.”

 

“Who’s on you?”

 

“I don’t know, Ian. There’ve been a lot of fucking doctors. Too many damn doctors.”

 

“Mine.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“ _Mine_.” He repeats with conviction, reaching up to pull him into their bed. Their bed that smells like Mickey. Ian’s missed the smell of their bed. “We should move.”

 

“To where, Gallagher? We don’t make any legal fuckin money.”

 

“I want someplace that’s ours, though.” It’s true. They don’t make any money, legally.

 

“Yeah, well, lemme get a job first. Then we’ll see.”

 

“Saw some automobile shop needs help. You’re good with cars.”

 

Mickey shrugs against his chest. He’s surprised he’s not fighting this. He’s surprised he’s letting him hold him. Ian watches as Mickey sticks his tongue into the corner of his mouth. He has something to say. “I’ve been thinking.”

 

He hums in agreement, scratching his fingers through Mickey’s hair which is really too intimate for them but he thinks Mickey might need it.

 

“I wanna bond… with you.”

 

His fingers freeze. He tenses. Fucking Mickey. He beat him to it. “Me too.”

 

“Cool.”

-

“You smell…”

 

“That supposed to be a fuckin compliment, Firecrotch?”

 

“You didn’t let me finish. You smell different.”

 

“I’m off my suppressants.”

 

“I know that, I’m not stupid.”

 

“The fuck is your issue then?”

 

“You smell… dunno. Stronger. Sweeter, maybe.”

 

Mickey’s quiet, the sound of a mumbled video game filling the silence of their living room. They’d waited. They’d waited to bond until Mickey got a job and they could afford to move into some shit apartment. Mickey kept taking his suppressants, but he stopped once they’d bought it. He needs to be in heat for the bonding to take place. Fuck. Mickey’s- “I’m close to my heat.” He grumbles.

 

“You’re… fuck.”

 

“What? You fuckin change your mind or somethin?” Mickey shuffles away from him, eyebrows raised.

 

He huffs. Pretty omega. “No, stupid. Come back here.” He nods towards his empty side, his arm still reaching across the back of their stolen couch.

 

Mickey does, settling back against him in an odd manner, “Fuck crawled up your ass, then?”

 

“I forgot we’re not bonded.”

 

“How the hell did you forget?”

 

“Dunno. Feels like we’re bonded, though. Don’t you think?”

 

“I don’t know what bonded is supposed to feel like.”

-

It doesn’t hurt. It feels… like nothing. It’s just him, Ian, the smell of sex, and Ian’s knot slowly filling as he shoots off load after load. He sinks his teeth in, no feeling but home filling him. When he wakes up the next morning, wet and overheated and burning with need, it aches a little. The spot is tender when Ian sinks his teeth in again. And the next time they have sex he bites him again. And if he weren’t being such a bitch, he’d tell him to knock it off. But he wants it. Craves it. And when the heat passes, Ian tells him he wants him to stop taking suppressants. He says that he loves his natural scent, can't stand having to search for it. So he stops taking them. And soon after that he stops taking his birth control at Ian’s urging. He gives in to Ian a lot. He’s not sure if it’s the bond or if it’s him. It’s probably him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr! Come chat with me at [guessiliedinthehook](http://guessiliedinthehook.tumblr.com//)


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